Fate was a funny thing
by Carol-Jung
Summary: Steve Rogers' death. After the civil war. That's how I imagine the scene will be like in the movie. (Obviously better written, but still.) Not really sure if I really like this, but I hope you do. Enjoy!


People always say that happens in slow motion.

That when you have a gun pointed at you or someone you love, they say that the world suddenly stop for a moment. That you can actually see the trigger being pulled and the bullet piercing trough time. You can see the exact moment that the little, cold piece of metal rips the flesh and pronounces a death sentence.

Bucky wished it all had happened in slow motion.

He wished that things had happened slowly, giving more time with him._ For him. _But it didn't. It happened way too fast.

He would say that all just happened in a heartbeat, if he could actually feel his heart his chest. At the moment, he seemed to be missing leaving an excruciating pain behind.

He heard the fires, of course. But he only realized what was going on once Steve's body was falling to the ground.

Two shoots. One after the other. And then, incredibly, silence. He didn't really know if the shots had made him deaf, or if simply the world just stopped moving. To be honest, he really didn't care.

The only thing that matter to Bucky at that moment was the man bleeding in the streets.

Bucky threw himself at the ground beside him, landing on his knees. His hands went immediately to the wound in his abdomen, trying to stop the bleeding.

"Steve." He called, his voice heavy in his throat. "Steve!"

His big, blue eyes were wide in shock. He opened his mouth, and blood came out.

"Fuck's sake." He said examining the wound, but all he could see was red everywhere. Everything was covered in red. His blue uniform now was becoming frightening darker.

"If you fucking die on me, Rogers, I'll kill you with my bare hands." He said, spilling the treat harshly.

Steve was fighting to breath.

Bucky felt smaller, cold hands on top of his and he look up to find Natasha with a horrified expression in front of him. Turning her eyes from Steve's wound; she looked into Bucky's eyes.

"He's going to be okay." She said, without a breath. She looked at him. "You're going to be okay." It didn't seem like she believed her own words.

Bucky looked up, to his best friend's shooter. He was now laying, face on the ground, arms behind his back. Strong black hands were holding him there. T´Challa was on top of him, a look of pure fury in his expression.

Crossbones had the ghost of a smile painted on his face. His, dark eyes were filled with something that resembled pure madness.

Bucky knew that his heart was still on his chest now. Because it was beating against his ribs like crazy, the sound exploding in his hears.

"Bucky." Steve spoke, his voice distorted by the pain. He looked down, his eyes finding his, and the sensation felt like someone punched him in the stomach, making him sick to the bones.

He had fought for him. He had fought for him against his own mind, his own personal twisted demons just so he could remember his face. He had fought against all odds and with every fiber of his being, just so he could remember some blurry confused memories of a man he once was and the man that always stood beside him.

He had fought to remember him within every breath he took.

Now was Steve turn to fight for him.

"You'll fight, you hear me?" He brought his face closer to his, his metal arm making a support for his head, his now blonde hair dirty with blood. "You'll do this for. You'll pull it through. Stay alive. Please, Steve, stay alive."

"My shield." He said with a gasp. "My-" Bucky's eyes searched around fervently looking for his circular shield, until Natasha found it beside him, and brought it closer to Steve. He took it, and pushed into Bucky's chest.

Bucky looked down at the shield, stained with dark red where Steve was holding, and shook his head, realizing what he was trying to say. "No. No. You are not doing this. You are not doing this because you're not dying."

"Bucky." He said his name like a prayer. "They need a leader. They need….. hope. Someone to trust."

"Don't you dare. Don't you dare think there is one person on this world that could ever replace you."

"What? You're telling… that Brooklyn doesn't produce….. skinny kids anymore?" He said with difficult, trying to smile weakly, but blood poured from his mouth. It made his way till his jawline, leaving a red brilliant trace behind. "You need to do this. It needs…. to be…. to be you." His chest now was rising up and down, as he was fighting for air, his breath short.

"No. Even if there was someone who could replace you….That person…. That person would definitely not be me." His voice broke in the sentence, his words barely a whisper.

"Bucky. One…. One last time. You and me." He pressed the shield onto his chest.

"Not the last time. Not the last time because-" He was interrupted by Natasha putting a hand of his shoulder. Her green eyes were filled with sorrow. Bucky shook his hand.

He look down at Steve, his vision suddenly becoming blurry by what he realized were tears. He lifted a hand to his eyes, trying to scare them off, the cold metal of his arm bushing against his cheeks and causing a shiver through his spine.

Bucky took the Shield.

"Till-till the" He tried to say, but his voice was getting smaller and smaller.

"End of the line." Bucky completed for him, looking down into the eyes of the man he surely loved.

He realized the end was finally knocking on his door.

"Good." Steve said with his last strength, before his chest stopped moving and his hand slipped from the shield.

Fate was a funny thing.

And Bucky Barnes had no sense of humor.


End file.
